Quincey Harker
by SuperheroGirlX
Summary: Based on Bram Stoker's Dracula the book . Quincey Harker has dealt with some strange things in his eighteen years, but this is by far the strangest.
1. 6 November, late

Summary: Based on Bram Stoker's _Dracula _(the book). Quincey Harker has dealt with some strange things in his eighteen years, but this is by far the strangest.

A/N: Quincey Harker is the son of Jonathan and Mina Harker. If you haven't read _Dracula_, you probably won't understand most of this story. Sorry!

**Quincey Harker**

_6 November, late._ - This has been a most bizarre birthday, even for me, so I shall try to put it down exactly as it happened, like mom is always urging me.

"Journal-writing saved our lives once, Quincey," she's always saying. I know. I've heard the tale before. This was, in fact, the first birthday I have not heard it. This was the first birthday for quite a few things.

I visited three graves this year and it is the first time I have gone alone. Mom will not be glad to hear I went after dark, but I feel more comfortable in the night and it was the only time I had available, since the days are short and class is long. A lot of studying is needed to become a doctor and I want to be the best, like Uncle Van Helsing and Uncle John.

The cemetery was locked, but I learned long ago how to climb fences, so this was not a problem. I visited Aunt Lucy first. Her crypt is always locked and only Uncle Arthur has the key, so I thought that I would pay my respects from outside as usual, but the door was ajar when I reached it. I have never been allowed into the crypt and I do not believe Uncle Arthur has been inside it since she was finally put to rest. After hearing the story from Uncle Van Helsing, I don't blame him.

Out of some morbid curiosity, I entered the cool chamber. You see, I did not know Aunt Lucy, since she died some years before my birth at the hands of a demon. Uncle Van Helsing (rest his soul) was very determined that I know about vampires, since they are so important to my past. Most of the gory details, I learned from him and I am glad now for every bloody story. It kept me from fainting at the sight in the crypt.

It is too terrible to retell, but I will say that I have now seen Aunt Lucy twenty-five years after her death and was not able to keep my dinner down. I have a rather high tolerance for the dead and even the decapitated, having gone on quite a few clandestine vampire killings with Uncle Van Helsing (though mom and father would not be pleased to know it), but never have I seen a body so degraded by time as Aunt Lucy's. I supposed twenty-five years' time is to blame, though it could also have had something to do with the large wolf that was slobering over her.

It was a fearsome black wolf with shining yellow eyes and overly large canine teeth. I do not know what possessed me to do so, but I pulled out my bowie knife and prepared to face down the beast. It growled and for a moment I thought that I would die in the same way that Uncle Quincey and Uncle Van Helsing died, gallantly fighting the forces of evil. The wolf, however, did not lunge at me as I expected, but instead sniffed the air and whined. It then bared its teeth in an effort to preserve its dominance, but slunk from the crypt without so much as a nibble at me.

I will not detail the position in which I found Aunt Lucy's various body parts, only note that they were returned to their proper places and sealed again in her coffin. To be safe, I left with her my crucifix, which father gave to me for my fifth birthday and which I have worn ever since. It will do no good to mom or Uncle Arthur, however, to have Aunt Lucy rise from the grave again, so I will have to do without my cross for the time being.

I then moved on to Uncle Quincey's grave, as I do every year to pay homage to the man I am named for. This day, twenty-five years ago, Uncle Quincey gave his life to save mom. His grave was also the site of an unusual animal visitation, this time by a large, brown bat.

Tonight truly was an unusual night. Even for me, a man (yes, now a man of eighteen years) who frequents cemeteries and deals quite regularly with vampires and their various underlings, this was a bizzare birthday.

The bat also behaved strangely. It perched on Uncle Quincey's headstone like a bird might perch on a tree branch, as if it belonged there, and it stared at me (a strange thing for a bat to do, since they are mostly blind). It seemed to be mocking me. I could not have Uncle Quincey's tomb marred by this servant of the undead, so I shooed the thing away with my knife and set garlic around Uncle Quincey's tombstone.

Mom and father would not be pleased to know that I gave up all my protection tonight, even though it was to protect the eternal souls of their dearest friends. I had already given my crucifix and my garlic by the time I reached Uncle Van Helsing's grave. The dirt is still fresh in front of his newly engraved tombstone. Sometimes, when I am in a class of particular disinterest to me, I think he will walk in with one of his usual foreign mistranslations or with yet another story mom has deemed too hard for me to hear.

Then I remember.

It has been only two months since his passing and I know that if I should ever see him again, I should have to do to him what he did to Aunt Lucy so many years ago. I want to believe that I would have the courage to do it for the peace of his soul, but I doubt sometimes if I would be able to carry out the steps required.

I have done it before, of course. Drive a stake through the heart, cut off the head, and stuff the mouth with garlic. I have done it quite a few times (though mom and father do not know). Never have I done it to someone I knew and loved. Uncle Van Helsing and Uncle John had the courage to save Aunt Lucy, even though they loved her, but if Uncle Van Helsing should come to my dorm tomorrow in a shroud of mist or in the form of a bat, I may hesitate. He would want me to perform the ritual, of course. Perhaps I will never have to make the choice...

I cannot write more of this tonight. I shall try again tomorrow.


	2. 7 November, class

_7 November, class. _- I cannot seem to concentrate on the lecture today. There is a white rat on the professor's desk and I cannot shake the feeling that I know it. The professor insists that it is a laboratory rat, but it does not seem to act like one. It is staring at me - peculiar behavior from a rat, I believe. No one seems to notice.

Germ theory: disease does not appear of its own accord, but is passed on through contact with the germ. Example: the bubonic -

It winked! The rat _winked_ at me! I must be going mad... There! It most undeniably winked at me just now! Uncle Van Helsing, if ever I needed your guidance, it would be now, when I cannot trust my own mind! If it would not worry Mom, I would go to Uncle John (but he would undoubtedly inform her of my visit, as they have for once and all decided to have no secrets between the lot of them). I am so distracted that I cannot focus on the professor's lecture. The longer I sit here, the more fearful I grow of this rat. It is irrational, but I feel that I should not be alone with this rat. I will try to slip out of class a few minutes early and hope that Professor Stapleton will excuse me.


	3. 7 November, twilight

_7 November, twilight._ - I was not able to escape class early as I had hoped. Professor Stapleton noticed my inattentiveness and asked to speak with me after class. O! to be thought a careless student all because of a rat! No doubt Professor Stapleton thinks I am a superstitious fool now.

Still, I could not shake the feeling, even in my own room, that I was being watched. I write now from the foot of Uncle Van Helsing's grave. I have nowhere left to turn without fear that my wild imaginings will find their way to mom, so I have come to Uncle Van Helsing for guidance. If only I could speak with Uncle John; I am sure he would understand my predicament exactly...

I hear a noise. Must hide...

I have taken cover behind a yew tree near Uncle Van Helsing's grave. The setting sun makes it difficult to see, but I can hear voices and one sounds like father. The others are indistinguishable as yet. They seem to be arguing.

"...was locked when I visited yesterday morning and today the groundskeeper called to report that he found the door ajar."

"You don't think..." father sounded worried and faint, not at all like his usual self.

"No, no, it couldn't be. I am quite sure that she could not return." There is a hint of sorrow in Uncle John's voice, for it is clearly Uncle John. The third must be Uncle Arthur. If they are discussing Aunt Lucy's crypt, I am sure that I closed the door when I left it last night. I had no way of locking it without the key, of course, but I am sure that I closed it. I hope the wolf didn't return to desecrate her tomb again. If that is where they are headed, I must arrive there first to keep Uncle Arthur from seeing what I saw last night. I only hope the wolf has not returned.

--

A/N: Thanks for reading! There's more to come!


	4. 8 November, home

_8 November, home_. - I have just awoken in my old room at home without the faintest idea of how I arrived here. It is still early, for the sun has not yet risen and there is not a sound in the house to indicate that anyone is awake. I will write down what I recall and pray the rest will come to me.

I had heard father, Uncle John, and Uncle Arthur arguing about Aunt Lucy's crypt and went to investigate, hoping to find it as I had left it yesterday. I was making my way across the cemetery when the rat - O the rat! That cursed rat from class. But perhaps I remember wrong.

No! It was there, just as the wolf and bat were there on my birthday (strange that I have only been eighteen two days; it seems a lifetime since that night). But the rat was there. If I am not certain of that, then I am certain of nothing. How it managed to escape its cage and find its way to the cemetery across town I may never know, but there it was, as white as snow, with eyes that burned an intense red. A mist gathered around my feet just then, obscuring the rat from view, except for its eyes, which pierced the fog until the very air seemed to be watching me.

I momentarily forgot myself and was pulled back to my business by a yelp coming from the direction of Aunt Lucy's crypt. The wisps of fog dissipated and the rat was gone, eyes and all, but another shout kept me from searching for the animal. I sprinted for Aunt Lucy's crypt, reaching in vain for my crucifix only to remember that I had left it in the crypt. That memory gave me hope, whatever else may come, that Aunt Lucy had not rejoined the undead.

I came upon the scene, praying that no one had been harmed, but curiously, something held me back, despite the fear I felt for my family and friends. I hid behind a nearby tree and watched as father tried to pull Uncle Arthur away from the crypt while Uncle John went cautiously into the open door.

"Lucy, Lucy," Uncle Arthur moaned miserably. It was in that moment that I realized that even after many years of happy marriage, Uncle Arthur had never gotten over Aunt Lucy's death. After a few moments, Uncle John came out of the crypt and announced that all was well. While Uncle Arthur was in tears, father pulled Uncle John away.

"Now Jack, what's all this about?"

Uncle John's eyes scanned the area. "We needn't tell Arthur. Lucy's soul has been saved once again."

"How? By who?"

Uncle John look around once more and although I was securely hidden, I still felt that he could sense my presence. He fingered something in his right hand and seemed to contemplate telling father something. He must have decided against it. "I...I'm not sure. By the grace of God, perhaps. We should consider ourselves lucky." And, pasting a smile on his face, Uncle John turned to Uncle Arthur and said genially, "Come now Arthur, Lucy is perfectly safe. Will you sit there all night and worry dear Mina to death, or will you lock this door and let us be on our way? Mina will be wanting to know everything, you know."

"Y-yes, of course," Uncle Arthur said unsteadily. The shock of Aunt Lucy still seemed to weigh upon him, but he managed to push himself to his feet and wander to the crypt door.

...Now it all goes fuzzy. Where has my memory gone?

I hear someone coming...

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A/N: If my posting gets sporadic here, it's because I'm coming up on finals and I don't have too much time to write. I appreciate the reviews I've gotten, thanks a lot!


	5. 8 November, afternoon

_8 November, afternoon._ - I have retired to my room, claiming to need sleep, but truly I only need some quiet to gather my thoughts. I recollected a bit more over lunch and I feel that if I wait to write it down, it should escape me again. Also, Uncle John has asked to speak privately with me later. From his manner, I assume no one else knows of our planned meeting tonight. I wonder what it could be about. But I supposed he will tell me in due time.

My memory falters as Uncle Arthur was walking to Aunt Lucy's crypt. Somehow all I could seem to remember was that wretched rat. Mom was very worried at my distraction earlier and I tried very hard to be cheerful for her, but my mind would not focus. It was over lunch that, by chance, my memory was jogged, just a bit. Whatever ordeal occurred last night has kept Uncle Arthur and Uncle John overnight at our house, so the five of us ate lunch together. They all seemed uneasy and avoided my eye, except for mom, who was overly protective of me, moreso than usual. I caught Uncle John staring curiously at me throughout the meal, but this was before he asked to meet me.

Mom finally attempted to begin a conversation, albeit about the weather. It was mundane enough. Rainfall had plagued England all week.

"My garden has become a muddy mess," mom said cheerfully. The men all gave her their full attention. "My flowers are waterlogged and deprived of sunlight. I fear I am making a miserable gardener." My mother was quickly and fervently told that she was a fine gardener and she took her compliments with a modest blush. "Really, though, plants can't be expected to survive only by the light of the moon."

My head snapped up at that point, a gesture that was not missed by Uncle John. He is too keen sometimes. It was the moon that brought about the flood (or rather, trickle) of memories. I instantly pictured the full moon last night and remembered staring up at it, waiting to hear the click of Uncle Arthur's key in the crypt door. I felt that it was all over and that I had worried over nothing, but my body refused to relax. And I waited, staring at the moon, but the click of the lock never came. My body tensed and I refused to look away from the sky.

It will amaze me forever how still the world can become and how quiet, when it is on the brink of dread. I doubted for a moment as I watched it, whether the moon was moving, as it is supposed to. It seemed to hang in the sky, threatening to keep us all in perpetual nighttime. A bat flitted across its surface, breaking my focus and then a howl shattered the silence. It was the distinctive howling of a wolf and I needn't have looked (I wish I hadn't) to know the wolf. Its black coat seemed thicker than the night before, making the beast look even larger. Its yellow eyes tracked Uncle Arthur's every movement as he tried to back away from the crypt.

This is what I do not understand, even now: How did the wolf get into the crypt? It must not have been there when Uncle John went in, for it is much to large to hide itself, and I cannot think that it sneaked by the four of us to enter after Uncle John had left. Somehow, however, the wolf was in the crypt again.

"Arthur," father hissed, "don't move."

Uncle Arthur froze in his tracks. "Jack?" he whispered. When I looked at Uncle John, he was inexplicably looking at my hiding place. His right hand was still clenched around something.

"Jonathan," Uncle John said slowly, keeping his eyes on my tree, "start backing away." Father looked from Uncle John to Uncle Arthur to the wolf. "Now, slowly."

"And Arthur?" father asked.

Uncle John finally looked away from me, letting his gaze travel to the wolf. His fist tightened. The silence grew again, broken every so often by the low growl of the wolf. Uncle Arthur stood dumbfounded and frightened, father waited for Uncle John to respond, and Uncle John was staring intently at the wolf, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, realizing Uncle John would say no more, father took a step back and the wolf growled and took its attention away from Uncle Arthur.

Here I am filled with such dread. I have lapsed yet again in my memory of events, yet the feeling that something terrible occurred refuses to leave me. If only Uncle John had chosen to meet me before dinner, instead of later in the evening. This ignorance is too much for me to bear. Perhaps I will seek him out. I only hope that he has not returned home for the afternoon.


	6. 8 November, still afternoon

_8 November, still afternoon. -_ I went to the study looking for Uncle John, having resolved that I must talk to him immediately. He was not in the study as I had hoped, but as I was leaving to search for him elsewhere I heard voices and hid behind the book case, which is where I write from now. Mom, father, Uncle Arthur, and Uncle John walked in, all seeming very concerned.

"Well now, I believe Jonathan and I raised him better than that, Dr. Seward." Mom only calls Uncle John by his title when she is upset with him.

"Really, Mina, you know I think you've made a fine mother and you, Jonathan, a fine father. This is no attack against you or your son, you know that."

"Mina, dear, please sit down," father said, offering her a chair. He sat next to her and held her hand, for mom hates to be treated differently from the rest of them and would not have it to be the only one seated at such a meeting.

"Yes, I am terribly sorry, John," Mom said. "I just don't believe that Quincey would have gone there at night. He knows how dangerous it is."

"Does he really? Does he know how close?"

"He knows of Lucy and Quincey."

"Yes, but does he know by whom? Does he know about -" Uncle John stopped abruptly. His eyes flickered to mom's forehead. For as long as I can remember, her forehead has always been pure, white and smooth, unblemished by even a wrinkle. However, Uncle Van Helsing informed me that that was not always the case. When mom was but one bite away from death, her forehead was burned with a reminder of the unholy mark upon her. They do not realize how much I know.

"Jack, isn't it enough that he knows _how _they died?" said Uncle Arthur. "There's no need to pass on the entire awful memory." Mom and father nodded in agreement. I imagine Uncle Van Helsing had many of these arguments with them before he decided to tell me everything.

"Quincey was there alone at night," Uncle John argued. "He is a man now; he deserves to know."

"Now John," father said, rising to his feet, "the Count is gone; Quincey, rest his soul, made sure of that. And you yourself saw to Lucy. It's all behind us and there is no reason for Quincey to know the rest of it." Now father looked at mom's forehead and she self-consciously parted her hair in such as fashion as to cover it. Father recalled himself and turned back to Uncle John. "This is the last we will discuss the matter."

Uncle John looked to Uncle Arthur for help, but found none. Uncle Arthur detests talking about Aunt Lucy. He and my parents left the room, leaving Uncle John alone for the time being. I will act now while I have the opportunity to question him. I think the others will not return for some time.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I know my updating is sporadic (job keeps me busy). I am working on the last chapter or two (I haven't decided yet) and I hope it's up soon. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this entry!


	7. 8 November, Night

_8 November, night._ - I know everything now, but I suppose I should start at the beginning. I left my hiding place behind the book case, but my appearance did not seem to startle Uncle John. At first, I was not sure he noticed me, so I cleared my throat in order to make my presence known.

"Sit down Quincey," he said without looking up from his lap. I sat across from him and he moved his folded hands from his lap to the table. "Quincey," he said slowly, "how much of what you just heard did you already know?"

Sensing that he would know if I lied, I opted for the truth. "All of it."

Uncle John nodded, as if that confirmed something that had been greatly bothering him. I could not tell if this confirmation came to him as good news or not. "Van Helsing told you," he said simply, finally looking across the table at me. I nodded and he nodded back in that same thoughtful way again. I waited a long time for him to say more and I was almost convinced that he had forgotten I was in the room when he looked at me suddenly and said, "I forgot to ask how your birthday was."

Memories of my birthday graveyard visit ran swiftly through my mind. I debated telling him about it, but decided against it. Uncle John would think me mad - it is his job to proclaim those things after all and it is a difficult habit to break.

"How did you celebrate your first birthday away from home?" he pressed, sounding nothing but curious. I have always had trouble lying to Uncle John (he is like Uncle Van Helsing in that respect), but I found it necessary then. If I told him how I spent my birthday, it would inevitably lead to everything else.

Therefore, despite Uncle John's proclamation to my parents that I had visited the graveyard, I liked unconvincingly, "I stayed in."

Uncle John nodded and smiled. He knew I was not telling him the truth, but he insisted on humoring me for a while. "You weren't compelled to follow our yearly tradition?"

"No."

"You didn't want to go to the cemetery alone?"

"No."

"You didn't visit Lucy or Quincey?"

I hesitated for just a moment. "No."

"You didn't visit Van Helsing?"

I realize now that I never did record what happened the night of my birthday at Uncle Van Helsing's tomb (I must learn to organize my thoughts more clearly). It was something most bizarre and was not clear to me then, nor was it entirely clear to me when I spoke with Uncle John. I will tell the details of it and then I will finish recording my talk with Uncle John, which explains everything else.

I had already been to see Aunt Lucy and Uncle Quincey, and, having left them my supernatural protections to ward away wolves and bats, proceeded to Uncle Van Helsing's tomb with infinite caution. From a distance, his grave looked undisturbed, but as I approached closer, a terrier came out from behind the tombstone and began to growl at me. This unnerved me, but did not raise my worries, as Uncle Van Helsing has always told me that dogs are on the side of God. However, this dog watched me warily with a continuous growl in its throat as I attempted to pay my respects to Uncle Van Helsing. It began to greatly annoy me that this dog should keep me from visiting Uncle Van Helsing on my birthday and I began to yell at it to no avail. It would not leave! I was frustrated and wanted nothing but to stand at the foot of my uncle's grave for just a moment. It angers me still now!

But a thing most terrifying occurred as to make me block the incident from my memory in confusion and denial, as Uncle John says. The dog suddenly stopped its growling and began to whine. At first I could see no reason for this sudden change, but soon I too saw what had upset the dog. A swarm of mice, as black as the dead of night, appeared and scurried across the graveyard toward us. The dog held his position over Uncle Van Helsing's grave for as long as it dared, but the sheer number of mice chased it away in the end. The mice parted to either side of Uncle Van Helsing's grave, leaving me free to visit with him. Their eyes, as black as their coats, gleamed up at me in a most unnerving manner and I could not bring myself to advance any closer to the beasts.

Therefore, I felt truthful when I answered Uncle John, "No, I did not visit Uncle Van Helsing."

It was then that I noticed that Uncle John's hand had slipped almost perfectly to give me just a glimpse of the object in his hand. It was my crucifix. So it had not been a guess when he told my parents I had been there, for he held my crucifix, which I had left with Aunt Lucy for her protection. I paused in my lies and was silent, assessing my situation. While I contemplated how much to tell Uncle John and wondered how much he already knew, Uncle John clenched his fist around the crucifix and spoke in a slow, deliberate way.

"Quincey, I will be honest with you, because I think it is the only way you will be honest with me. I know that you were at the graveyard; I know that you visited Lucy, for I have the proof in my hands. I assume that you also visited Quincey and Van Helsing, but we should first address what I know for certain and my hypotheses based on that certainty.

You went to Lucy's crypt, as you have done every year since your birth. I assume you found it unlocked or ajar, as we found it just yesterday, and went inside. I could speculate as to what you found in the crypt, but I would prefer to hear that from you. Suffice it to say that what you saw led you to believe that Lucy needed further protection, so you left your crucifix with her - a very noble plan."

"Thank you," I murmured humbly.

"Would you like to correct my hypothesis?" I shook my head, since all he had guessed was correct. "Then would you like to tell me what it was that made you think Lucy's body needed extra protection?"

"The wolf," I said before I could stop myself. Uncle John's eyes flashed attentively and I knew I had best explain. It was no use to lie when he knew so much. I explained, "The wolf was in her crypt." (I did not put Uncle John through the horrors of retelling in what state I found Aunt Lucy and the wolf).

"Did it attack you?" Uncle John asked.

I shook my head. "At first I thought it would and I prepared to defend myself, but it never did."

This did not seem to surprise Uncle John. In fact, the information seemed to depress him slightly, as when one's fears are confirmed. "It left?"

"Yes, it whined and slipped away. I left my crucifix in case it should come back."

Again he nodded gravely. "Quincey," he said, "there is something I would like to show you."

Without further explanation, Uncle John pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. It was worn and creased from many times of folding and unfolding. Uncle John passed it to me and I cautiously unfolded it. Uncle Van Helsing's deliberate handwriting seemed to leap off the page and the first line told me what to expect:

_To John Seward in the case of my death_

It was the final thoughts and concerns of my Uncle Van Helsing.

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A/N: I know leaving you in the middle of a journal entry is out of the ordinary for this story, but if I didn't, the update wouldn't have come for a VERY long time, because the end has been taking me longer to hash out than I had expected. Thanks for being so patient with my inconsistent updates! I hope to have more for you relatively soon.

--X


	8. 8 November, Van Helsing's Final Thoughts

_To John Seward in the case of my death_

It was the final thoughts and concerns of my Uncle Van Helsing.

The letter read:

_John,_

_Since the day you sucked the venom from my veins, I have counted you as my closest and most trusted friend. I must trust now that the secrets of a dead man will remain untold. You must not tell Mina, or Jonathan, or Arthur. It is what you call our tiny secret._

_You know I always loved Mina and loved Quincey as my own, as I am sure you do as well. You will recall, I am sure, the argument we five had regarding his knowledge of the things undead and my unfavorable objections to keeping it hidden from him. Even in my old age, my memory is like the elephant and I do not forget that you were on the side of the others in this fight. Through this letter, I am hoping to change your position, for Quincey's sake. You see, although the verdict of that meeting was to tell Quincey very little, I could not let Quincey go ignorantly into the world of dangers. I regret having to disobey Mina's wishes, but how could I leave him blind when the cursed dark world seeked him out at so young an age? We could not protect him or hide him from the truth. You remember the hysterical visit from Mina that you told to me in such detail. It was many years ago, but I am sure the haunting memory has not left you._

"What?" I asked sharply. I had never heard of my mother going into hysterics and could not conjure the image of her in a state other than her usual calm. "Hysterics?" I asked Uncle John.

"You must understand, Quincey, we hadn't wanted to raise your fears unduly. It may have all come to nothing."

"Uncle John," I prompted.

He sighed and motioned for me to finish reading, but I put the letter down and refused to read further until I had the answer to my question. So many things in my life had been deemed too hard for me to hear, but as a man now, I choose what I may hear or not. Uncle John acquiesced and began the tale. I have entered it here as he told it to me, to the best of my memory:

"Mina arrived in the dead of night with you in her arms. Her fear was so great that she knew not how to begin to tell it and spoke incoherently on my doorstep for a great while until I invited her in, afraid she would catch cold, for she had left her home in only her night clothes.

'Mina, what's happened?' I asked her.

'Oh John!' she wailed. She was clutching you so tightly that I was afraid she would crush you. I cannot blame her for her fear, for the image she conjured in my mind that night has become my nightmare.

'Mina,' I tried to calm her frantic rantings, 'where is Jonathan?'

Her eyes became wild and pleading. 'Oh John, he can never know! You know what he suffered from the Count. The shock of this would destroy him.' Without further prompting, poor Mina sat down and told me the whole terrible story. 'Every night, after I tuck Quincey in, I lock the windows. How could I not after...after what Lucy suffered?'"

Uncle John interjected to me, "As you know fully from Van Helsing, your mother also suffered a fate close to Lucy's that would prompt this behavior."

I nodded gravely and remembered again how my mother had tried to hide her forehead. Even now the memory haunted her.

Uncle John continued, "Your mother told me how she had tucked you in that night and, having secured the window, left to her own room.

'I had been fast asleep,' she told me in an almost automatic voice that made me quite worried for her mental health, 'when I...sensed something. Oh I wish that I could be more specific than that John. You will think me as unstable as your patients, but I tell you I was woken not by a noise, but by the sense of something terribly wrong.'

'Now, Mina, I will not think any less of you for anything you tell me. Have we not been through enough yet for you to trust me?'

She wrapped the shawl I had given her more tightly around her shoulders, as if to ward off a sudden chill, though it was quite warm in my office that night. I had tried to persuade her to let me take you while she told the story, but she was adamant that you should not leave her arms. She looked at you almost in fear as she said, 'I woke stiffly and felt at once that I must go to Quincey, not because I heard him cry, simply because I had been seized by the feeling. I at once rose without waking Jonathan. It must have been nearly midnight. I reached his door and...Oh John!'"

There was a look of fear in Uncle John's eyes as he retold the story. I do not recall breathing as he finished the story:

"Mina had devolved into a fit of tears for some minutes and I was forced to give her something to calm her or I feared she would cry herself to convulsions. When she had regained a bit of her senses she said automatically again, 'There was a mist coming from under the door. There was a mist, but I am sure I had locked the window, so how could there have been a mist? Oh John, I don't remember opening the door...There was panic and I must have opened the door, but I cannot remember doing it. The mist filled the room, so thick that I couldn't see Quincey.'

Your mother began to cry and shake again, despite the medication I had given her. You stared up at her from her lap and tried to reach out to her, but she was suddenly overcome and could not look at you, though she would not release you from her grip.

'Mina, what happened?' I pushed.

'Through the fog I saw...I saw piercing red eyes. I was so frightened that they were my Quincey's that I fell against the door.'

'It was not Quincey?' I asked.

Mina shook her head vehemently and sobbed, 'I cannot understand what a rat should be doing in Quincey's room!'"

"What kind of rat?" I interrupted sharply. Uncle John seemed disturbed by my sudden question.

"A white one, I believe. Yes, your mother said a white one with red eyes. Why?"

"This rat was in my room when I was a baby?"

"Yes," he said slowly.

"Did it disappear with the mist?"

"Yes..." He was watching me shewdly now. "It 'evaporated' as Mina put it."

I decided then that it would be detrimental to continue to keep Uncle John from the truth. "I see," I said to him, "that only the truth from both of us will be of any help."

"Yes," Uncle John agreed. "But first, the letter."

And with that I continued to read:

_It was out of concern for his safety that I betrayed Mina's trust and for that I will beg her forgiveness when the time comes that we should be united. However, the story of the rat only confirmed for me a fear that I had been stubbornly rejecting for some time. I will tell you this fear and hope that you will then see the wisdom in my decision. You see, my mind had continued to dwell on the vampire infection long after our good American friend delivered the final blow to the beast. For though we had sucked the venom from Mina with that final blow, I began to consider the consequences. Mina had been tainted for some time and it seemed plausible to my mind that there should be lingering effects of such a prolonged exposure, despite the cure we had delivered._

"Uncle John," I interrupted my reading with some angry rejection of the letter, "there is nothing wrong with my mother."

"Finish the letter, Quincey."

So I finished:

_Though it is unpleasant (I struggled to come to the conclusion myself), I must ask you to, as you say, connect the spots. I put before your noble mind these facts:_

_1. Mina was infected for some time with the unholy presence of the vampire._

_2. While in that state, she was connected to the Count in ways that sometimes changed her manner._

_3. She was cured, and yet the cursed servants continued to haunt her home._

_4. The creature was found in Quincey's room, not Mina's._

_5. While a taxing sight for Mina, the experience left Quincey completely unharmed._

_I have faith that when you have taken the time to consider the facts without prejudice you will reach my conclusion: That, while we saved Mina's soul, we were unable to completely save her from the effects of her exposure. I now charge you with this task in my absence: To care for Quincey and protect him from the effects that have passed to him through birth._

--

A/N: Yeah, so much for "relatively soon." I'll just say that I'm almost done, though I can't promise I'll actually get around to writing and posting soon. Finals are around the corner. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this installment.


	9. 8 November, The End

The letter was signed in Uncle Van Helsing's unmistakable handwriting. I let the letter fall to the table between Uncle John and I as I tried to comprehend this last deduction. Effects that have passed to me through birth? I couldn't understand this and looked to Uncle John for assistance.

"I haven't quite figured it out myself, though I have some ideas," Uncle John admitted, adding curiously, "I would like to know about the rat you mentioned earlier."

So I told him all that had happened with the rat in class and in the graveyard. "It couldn't possibly be the same rat after all these years," I concluded, almost an argument.

"You wouldn't think so," Uncle John said thoughtfully. "It _is_ interesting though. What were you doing in the graveyard that night?"

"I had gone back to try to visit Uncle Van Helsing," I answered. I then recounted my first attempt to visit him for Uncle John, who merely nodded and turned more introspective in his demeanor. While Uncle John sat thinking, I too was forced to reflection and in that time a thought occurred to me which hadn't before. "Uncle John, how did I get home after that visit?"

"You don't remember?"

I shook my head and answered, "The last I am able to remember, the wolf was about to attack Uncle Arthur."

Uncle John then began to tell me the missing parts of my memory and thus recall it to my own mind. The wolf crouched as if ready to attack, hind legs clenched in anticipation of the lunge. Uncle Arthur was helpless in the wolf's sights. From behind my tree, I watched in horror as my father backed away slowly, as Uncle John stood calculating, and Uncle Arthur stood still in hopes that the wolf would mistake him for a graveyard statue. Such was not the case and the wolf released his muscles in a strong jolt forward, claws extended toward Uncle Arthur's heart.

As Uncle John remembers then, "The wolf seemed to have a change of heart mid-jump and twisted its body in the air to avoid colliding with Arthur, as had been its original course. It landed on its shoulder just inches from Arthur's still frame, and slid into the side of the crypt. A smaller beast would have cracked from the impact, but this one merely shook itself off and ran off into the night without giving us any further trouble. Arthur locked Lucy's crypt and we three returned to Mina. Later, I went back to the graveyard for you, where I expected to find you, behind your hiding tree. You were indeed there, unconscious, though otherwise seemingly unharmed, and I brought you to your mother. She had questions that I was unable to answer and am still unsure of. Why did the wolf veer, Quincey?"

I had been thinking of this before Uncle John asked me, but this did not make it simpler to explain. I remembered watching the wolf tense for attack and I tensed with the anticipation of it as well. This was foreign to me, this feeling of...excitement. I should have been concerned for Uncle Arthur's safety, and as I questioned my own feelings, I found that I _was_ concerned. These feelings battled inside me while the wolf eyed Uncle Arthur. And then the wolf lunged and concern triumphed within me and the wolf seemed to snap and twist and as it strained to avoid Uncle Arthur, my energy fled my body, as if by my own force, I stopped the wolf.

This was difficult to convey to Uncle John, but I did my best and he tried to follow my ramblings. I am not sure how much of my internal struggle he understood, nor how much I understand, even now. He merely nodded in that sad way again. Lest he should think less of me for feeling with the wolf, I stressed to him again my concern for Uncle Arthur, but Uncle John was deaf to my pleas in that moment.

"Quincey," Uncle John said after a long time. I felt very young in that moment, or else Uncle John seemed very old. "We will tell Mina none of this. Or Jonathan. It would do them no good to know it. Van Helsing understood that much, or he would have contacted them in his death as well."

It was my turn to nod, though I did not quite understand at that time what Uncle John had come to understand.

"You don't understand," he said to me and I nodded. "Quincey, that may be for the best..."

"No," I said sternly. I would know everything and now, knowing all, I would not have had it kept from me. That is not to say that I am happy with it. Uncle John is unsure what to think about it all and told me hesitatingly, carefully.

"You are a good man, Quincey, born of good parents. They survived an evil far greater than can be told of in stories. Your namesake removed that evil from our world, restoring all that is good and allowing for you to exist, a good being." Uncle John seemed desperate to leave it there, but I urged him on. He continued almost unwillingly, "We fought for your mother, and in doing so assured a life for you. I had thought we were successful and in a way we were. You are here before me, a good man."

I interrupted him at this point, hoping to hurry him. "Uncle John, get on with it." He would not be hurried in this however and continued as if I had said nothing.

"I wish to stress your goodness in all arenas of life and to apologize for having ultimately failed you."

I would have protested his apology if I had not thought it would cause him to stop his explanation. In what I can only consider an attempt to reconcile his failings, Uncle John returned my crucifix at that moment. He reached across the table and placed it in front of me and did not continue his speech until I had taken it and placed it around my neck where it belonged. As I did this, Uncle John looked pained. The protection he had just given me, that they had always relied on, is not enough for what I now face and this knowledge was reflected in Uncle John's eyes as they were fixed on my crucifix.

"Quincey, if I am correct in placing current events together with Van Helsing's points, I believe that our years of hunting and the sacrifices we suffered were not as all-encompassing as we had thought. The curse you face now will take more strength than we had expended in saving Mina and you will have to face this battle alone, every day. If I could be of any assistance to you, I would lend you my all, but this is a battle without an enemy we can chase or destroy. If I could take this from you, I should do so without hesitation."

He paused here and fastened his gaze on mine, but only briefly. That fleeting glance showed shame and fear, such that he could not bare to look me in the eye and returned his gaze to my crucifix.

"I believe you are cursed Quincey, tainted with a dual nature. From your parents you have gained courage, goodness, and all things human. From the lingering effects of...the vampiric disease, you suffer from a connection to the dark world. Rats, wolves, and bats have their sway over you, as the Count had sway over your mother in her infected state. Your battle will forever be an internal struggle between the nature of good and that pull of evil, as with Arthur and the wolf. I am so sorry."

Uncle John nearly wept and I, in my shock at this revelation, merely sat there. I did not move for a very long time. The struggle in the graveyard between the wolf's instincts and my own human compassion that I could barely find words to describe was a curse passed down from Count Dracula himself, through some lingering effect on my mother. Of course, Uncle John, having thought the problem long gone with the slaying of Dracula, would see any indication to the contrary as a curse. It is at first difficult to see any other way. When all one wants is to be good, living with a shadow on the soul that threatens to swallow all light can be considered little other than a curse.

However, having thought for some time on my predicament (and wallowing in self-pity, fear for my eternal soul, and a shocked senselessness), I have reconsidered my plight. Cursed, I may be. It is certain that mom and father would see it no other way for the same reasons as Uncle John. If the shadow were to block out the light, I would indeed be lost. There is hope though, that my goodness can stab into the shadow, creating new light out of the darkness. It has already been witnessed in my saving Uncle Arthur that the dark world is just as susceptible to me as I am to it. Perhaps, through my internal struggle between light and dark, I can put those creatures of evil to some good purpose. I will bend them to my will.

This may well be a curse.

For now I will use it as a gift.

--

A/N: THE END! I hope you all enjoyed it. I won't be doing a follow-up story for this one, so just assume that Quincey raises an army of rats, wolves, and bats, and spends his nights kicking vampire butt.


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